Quotes about Threshold

I see as much as doors'll allow, open or shut.

May I have the honor . . . Mrs. Caradon?" Mrs. Caradon. Mrs. Wyatt Caradon. She leaned down and he lifted her into his arms. She kept her eyes averted as he carried her up the stairs and across the threshold of the cabin, yet she was aware of every place their bodies touched, and of where his hands were on her—chaste and proper—which only accentuated what he was probably thinking about. And what she was trying her best not to.

some even affirmed that they had passed the night across the threshold of the great door, in order to make sure that they should be the first to pass in. The crowd

The tree of possibilities: life as it reveals itself to a man arriving, astonished, at the threshold of his adult life: an abundant treetop canopy filled with bees singing. And he thinks he understands why she never showed him the letters: she wanted to hear the murmur of the tree by herself, without him, because he, Jean-Marc, represented the abolition of all possibilities, he was the reduction, (even though it was a happy reduction) of her life to a single possibility.

Once we lose our fear of being tiny, we find ourselves on the threshold of a vast and awesome Universe which dwarfs -- in time, in space, and in potential -- the tidy anthropocentric proscenium of our ancestors.

Fallen angels could not enter sanctuaries of God. The moment they crossed the threshold, the house of worship would go up in flames, incinerating every mortal inside.

WHEN OUR DEEPEST DESIRE IS NOT THE THINGS OF GOD, OR A FAVOR FROM GOD, BUT GOD HIMSELF, WE CROSS A THRESHOLD.

It seems counterintuitive, but it's true: in order to achieve flow, magic, the zone, we start by being common and ordinary and workmanlike. We set our palms against the stones in the garden wall and search, search, search until at last, in the instant when we're ready to give up, our fingers fasten upon the secret door. Like a child entering a meadow, we step over the threshold, forgetting everything except the butterfly that flits across our vision.

Death of the righteous . . . is not to be feared or shunned. It is the shadowed threshold to the palace of God.

A young student reflecting on his own experience wrote recently: When loneliness is haunting me with its possibility of being a threshold instead of a dead end, a new creation instead of a grave, a meeting place instead of an abyss, then time loses its desperate clutch on me. Then I no longer have to live in a frenzy of activity, overwhelmed and afraid for the missed opportunity.

I'm not capable of suffering completely. I never have. It goes only down to a certain point and then it stops. As long as there is that untouched point, it's not really pain.

She had died in her sleep, painlessly and calmly, and on her face was a smile- as if, after all, death had come as a kindly friend to lead her over the threshold, instead of the grisly phantom she had dreaded...Anne, looking down through a mist of tears, at her old playfellow, thought she saw the face of God had meant Ruby to have, and remembered it so always.